“I think she might be my birth mother. There’s someone else running around this town sharing my maternal DNA, and given how much I look like this woman who was murdered thirty years ago, I have to assume it’s a possibility, right? So she either had another kid who’s now living in Bamfield…” Looking at the timeline of when Bianca met and married Thomas Edgefield and when she died at age twenty-four, it wasn’t likely.
“Or…” the idea that had started to nag at the corners of her consciousness seemed so far-fetched, so outlandish she could barely put it into words, but she needed to say it out loud to hear her father’s reaction, “…someone killed her to steal her baby and replaced him with another dead infant.”
The silence was heavy. Not a good sign.
“Maybe their baby died of natural causes or maybe they killed it, but whatever happened, I was excess baggage. Or maybe they sold me, hell, maybe they sold us both. I don’t know.” She took a huge gulp of air to steady her nerves. “But my gut is telling me Bianca’s baby boy is still alive.”
“Oh, jeez.”
“I might be wrong.”
“But you’ve got good instincts. You get them from me.” He laughed, but it was forced and hollow. “You want her murder investigation reopened?”
She thought of Thomas Edgefield, a man who’d waited a lifetime for answers. A man who might be her biological father. “Yeah, I do. And I need to see if I can figure out who that dead baby might be.” And find out if her newly discovered half brother was also a cold-blooded killer.
Finn lay in bed and swore he was dreaming. The scotch-overlaid fatigue certainly managed to make this particular fantasy vividly alive. She was warm and smelled like Holly.
“Whoa, you’re skunked.” She even sounded like Holly.
He wrapped his hand around her wrist and pulled her toward him, just in case she decided to disappear. Dreams were like that.
He laid her down on the sheets and traced her brows with his fingertips. “I thought you’d gone.” His voice was gruff.
She just stared up at him with huge, troubled eyes.
He ran tentative fingers over her lips. “I thought you’d left me.”
Her eyes shimmered. “I’m sorry.” She cupped his cheek. “I’m pretty sure you won’t remember this in the morning, but I think I love you and that’s a first.”
He kissed her then, even though she was a dream. Because the real Holly wouldn’t be putting her heart in his hands after the way he’d messed up her life.
He ran his fingers down her body and wished to god he hadn’t drunk so much, although if he hadn’t, she might not be here. And maybe he was losing his sanity, but right now he didn’t care. She tasted like whiskey-soaked longing and desire. He slipped his hands under her tank top. Silky skin. Warm flesh. He cupped bare breasts. Definitely his fantasy. With nothing to lose except his mind, he slipped his hand into the waistband of her pants, lower, over her mound and dipped into her hot, wet core. She groaned away from his mouth, her fingers digging into his arms. Considering this was his dream, she had way too many clothes on. He stripped her top over her head and reared back just to look at her. She was so beautiful. Pale skin, slender lines, full breasts, slim waist. The sort of bellybutton that begged for a taste.
He kissed his way over her body. Sipped her skin as if she was nectar. He dealt with her pants and threw them to the floor, along with silky panties that got tangled on his fingers. She lay there stretched out on his bed. He took her foot in his palm. Bent her leg and raised it higher as he kissed his way to her knee. If this was a dream, it was more vibrant than any he’d ever experienced before. She opened for him, and he put his mouth on flesh that defied any dream.
Holly.
He pulled her closer. Inhaled her scent. She was here. In his bed. And he thought she might have said she loved him.
Her hands skimmed his shoulders with sweeping strokes. His tongue rolled over her, back inside that hot piece of heaven. He kept his arm across her waist to stop her bucking him off as she came. He thrust deeper, wanting to steep in her essence, in the taste of this woman. His woman.
There was no one else in this world for him. It had taken a lifetime to find her, now he wasn’t letting go.
When the quivers stopped, he knelt between her thighs and she reached for a condom from his wallet on the bedside table and rolled it over him.
Hell of a dream. He grinned. Smoothed his hands over her hips and pulled her close. She wriggled, trying to adjust their positions and get even closer.
“I’m still scared I might actually be dreaming.” If he woke up alone right now he was going to be so fucking sad.
She curled her fingers around his length and squeezed hard enough to make his eyes cross as she guided him home. And suddenly he was all the way inside this woman, the way he’d been last night, but this time they were face-to-face and he couldn’t stop looking at her. Those eyes, that sweet nose, lush mouth, perfect body—bruises and all. She shifted her thighs, took him deeper.
“I never want to lose you.” Any minute he was going to freak her out with a marriage proposal. Shut up, stupid.
Harder, faster, a solid rhythm of sex that was building and gaining momentum inside his blood, echoed in her ragged breathing and skipping pulse. She locked her ankles tight behind his back. He caught that small, sensitive nub of her femininity between two fingers as he moved inside her, over and over, applying just the right pressure to make her buck and writhe. She screamed, sweaty and panting, and still he didn’t let her rest. He rolled them so she was on top, boneless, lax, and sated.
He started laughing, his hands playing with high nipples that pleaded for attention. She twisted her hips and he broke out in a sweat. She took his wrists and held them over his head, dipping one breast enticingly near his mouth. He reared up to savor as she teased him. Then she sank back down along his length, taking him slow and deep, leisurely letting him feast on her breasts and then driving him up again until he thought he might die from fiery, desperate lust. And then she sat back and raised her hands in the air and rode him. Slowly at first. Then faster and faster, driving his brain to white-out conditions. His fingers dug into her hips as she pushed him closer and closer to that elusive edge.
Then she touched herself. Her hands drifting sensuously over her breasts, cupping their weight, pinching those pretty pink nipples with pale, graceful fingers. His mouth went dry. Her long dark hair fell across her shoulders like tendrils of silk. One slender arm drifted lower as she hummed and slipped her hand through her dark curls, until she gripped him firmly while he was still inside her. He exploded, white light burning through his lids as he threw back his head and yelled. He felt her shudder in response, and she rode out another climax while he watched her with dazed wonder and awe.
She collapsed in a warm heap on top of him.
He pulled her close and stroked her hair off her shoulder.
“I love you. I didn’t think I’d ever get to tell you that. Don’t leave.” Christ, he was drunk and pathetic. He banded his arms around her, and they went to sleep with her on top of him, still joined.
When he woke up the sun blinded him, and she was gone.
CHAPTER 20
“I know it’s an imposition, but I really need to see the files of all the children born in nineteen eighty-two.” Holly stood on Dr. Fielding’s front step and stared into his sleep-blurred eyes and figured steely cop stare would work better than smiles at five in the morning.
“It can’t wait?” He looked at his watch with a grimace and Holly sympathized. But she wanted this over with, and the itch at the back of her neck, combined with her newfound knowledge, meant she couldn’t sleep. She had a case to solve. A promise to keep.
“No. It can’t wait. A warrant is being faxed to your office as we speak.” Hopefully.
His mouth dragged down at the corners, eyes resigned. “Give me five minutes to get dressed.”
She nodded and stepped back. She hadn’t been suspended—as far as she
knew. So she’d put her uniform back on to make this official. Maybe getting run off the road had been personal. Maybe it was all about Bianca Edgefield’s murder, not Milbank’s. Someone had suspected she was Leah Edgefield—and didn’t want anyone asking too many questions about that long ago crime.
Her father had gotten a judge to grant the exhumation, and someone was supposed to track down Thomas to ask for his permission. She didn’t think it would be a problem given his zealous desire to find the killer. But regardless, the bodies would be reexamined. She hoped he approved.
Cassy hadn’t gotten back to her yet on matching Leah Edgefield’s DNA to her own. Holly wouldn’t be surprised if she’d fallen asleep over her sequencer. She tried not to think about Finn and the sweet, drunken declaration of love he’d made. She found it hard to imagine he really meant it. And concentrating on solving a crime helped ground her, offered her a measure of redemption on a day when she badly needed it.
Dr. Fielding followed her to the tiny community hospital in his SUV and parked beside her, almost blocking her in. Maybe he was pissed she’d dragged him out of bed. She got out, careful to not scratch the paintwork on her rental car.
Fielding’s face looked drawn as he unlocked the doors and tapped in the alarm code. “Here, you can use the computer in the nurses’ office, but not everything was put into electronic format yet.” He pointed to a row of filing cabinets along one wall. “Most of the records from thirty years ago are still in there.”
Holly pressed her lips together. This could take awhile, but this was the job.
“Thanks.” She started on the computer, decided to see what the databases showed her. Records went back to 1985. She made a note of all the names of the kids and dates of birth. Tommy Edgefield had been six weeks old when he supposedly died.
The phone rang, strident and loud in the silence of the clinic. She heard Dr. Fielding answer just as she slid open the first drawer of the first filing cabinet. She checked the date on the file—1950. Oh, hell. Still, she had a good idea of the time window she wanted to examine in detail—assuming her hunch was correct. Whoever the baby found in Bianca Edgefield’s arms was had to have been born within a couple of months of Tommy, but she decided to check every baby born within a year of the murders, which had occurred in July 1982. She worked her way through the files and pulled out all the files on newborn babies during that period. Eliminated the girls.
Unbelievably, a stack of fifteen boys remained. “Must have been a bumper year.”
Anita stuck her head in the door and Holly jumped. “Dr. Fielding called me in. Said you were here and he had an emergency out at Eagle Ridge. Jeb Granger had a hypoglycemic attack last night. Diabetic. Dr. Fielding didn’t want to leave you here alone because you might run off with the narcotics.” She grinned, and her eyes ran over the files Holly held. “Martin made a pot of coffee. Want some?”
Martin must be Dr. Fielding. “Sure.”
She went away, and Holly heard the stirring sound of a spoon inside a ceramic mug. Footsteps came back toward the office. Anita’s office. She looked around. Damn, there wasn’t room to swing a cat in here. She glanced at her watch. Not even six. She needed to be done before the place opened for business. “I threw in a lump of sugar because Martin thinks coffee and tar taste equally good.” She placed the mug on a coaster beside the small pile of files.
Holly picked up the mug and slurped some down. Considering she’d barely eaten over the last week sugar was a good thing.
“Can I help you find something or is it top secret?”
She eyed Anita carefully. “I’m looking at the birth of babies in the early eighties.”
“Oh my god, why?” Her hand gripped her throat. “It isn’t some issue with medication is it, because my Mikey was born in eighty-two?”
“I didn’t see his file.” Holly frowned.
“I had him in Victoria, not a homebirth. Those are the homebirth records.”
Holly swore. She shook her head, reassured the anxious mother. “Just some irregularities is all, but I need the records of all the male babies born around that time. How many were there?”
“There used to be a lot more families in the area. Number of kids we have in town has dwindled considerably…” she trailed off. “Anyway, I can pull all the inoculation files from the computer, that’ll cover most of the kids.” She nodded to the PC. “There are a few families—New Agers—who don’t believe in immunization. Rely on the rest of us to put our children at risk so they can skip around being all righteous. Not that I’m bitter or anything,” Anita grimaced into her coffee. Holly finished hers, suddenly parched after a night of stress and red-hot sex.
“There’s more in the pot if you want some,” Anita told her. “Go help yourself.” She pointed to the files Holly had pulled. “Want me to copy those for you? And then pull up the inoculation records?”
“Thanks, that would be great.” She should have asked for help in the first place but had wanted to do it alone. Bad police procedure; this was why they had a command group. So no one got tunnel vision or went off half-assed. Holly shook her head, more tired than she realized. She definitely needed more coffee. “Do you want another cup?” she asked. Anita shook her head. Holly stood, her head whirling slightly. When was the last time she’d slept more than an hour? Coffee pot was near the front door she remembered. She turned and stumbled down the hallway.
Her legs felt wooden and suddenly collapsed beneath her. Her fingers were nerveless. Toes numb. Her bones dissolved. She tried to open her mouth as she crashed on her face. Ouch.
She watched someone step over her and unlock the front door of the clinic. A car was backed right up to the door with the trunk wide open. Help. Her eyelids felt as if someone was physically pulling them downward, but she fought the soporific demands of her body.
Anita Toben came back and took both her hands and dragged her to the door. She looked around and then, with a strength belying her size, hefted Holly across her shoulder and tumbled her into the truck.
Holly’s need to achieve had once again overridden good police procedure. She’d been a damned fool the whole time she’d been in this town and still hadn’t learned her lesson. The trunk closed and trapped her in complete and utter darkness, and then the drugs took her deeper.
While Mike finished cleaning the boat they needed for the anglers tomorrow, he realized they didn’t have a fire extinguisher in the galley. Too tired to go into town and pick up one from the store, he jumped in their little speedboat to grab one from one of the compartments and got the shock of his life.
An unfamiliar bag was stuffed into one of the hidey holes.
What the hell?
He eased back the zipper, even more confused when he realized it was full of cash.
A creak behind him made him spin around. His dad stood there watching him with a grim expression on his face. “I had to get rid of Milbank before he dragged you down with him, son.”
“What?” Mike asked. It was as though his father had suddenly started speaking in Mandarin.
“I heard what he said to you. That he was going to kill you? No one threatens my family. No one.” Grant Toben spat into the water, both hands stuffed in his sweatshirt pockets. “He came here that day on his boat looking for you, but you were watching the store.”
“He was supposed to come out on the Sunday but never showed…”
Grant’s moustache bristled. “He said you were supposed to take him diving to Crow Point and kept looking at his watch as if he didn’t have much time. Turns out he was right.” His father’s smile turned cold. “The scuba gear was right here, so I offered to take him out.”
The implications of what his father was telling him finally hit. “You killed him?”
“He attacked me.” His father straightened, indignant. “I defended myself. I lashed out, caught him in the chest.”
Mike eyed his father as if he’d never seen him before. “But you took Edgefield’s knife; you deliberately set him up.�
� Why would he do that?
Grant’s eyes shifted. “Guy’s a nut-job. I was trying to do the town a favor.”
Which meant he’d planned it. A terrible sense of impending disaster ate into Mike’s chest. “Why didn’t Len show up that Sunday?”
His father’s cheeks reddened, nostrils flared. He didn’t like being called on his actions. Mike didn’t care.
“I called him,” Grant admitted. “Told him you were sick and to come on Monday instead.”
His father had made sure he’d gotten Len alone, and then he’d killed him. “Oh, sweet Jesus, Pop. Do you know what you’ve done?”
His father shrugged. “I protected my family. Way I was brought up to.”
“I was handling it!” Mike yelled.
“Not from where I was standing, you weren’t.”
Mike walked over and grabbed his dad by his shirt and shook him. “You fucking killed a man. Now every cop on the island is trying to hunt you down. How could you do it?”
The spit and vinegar evaporated, and his father suddenly looked old. Mike realized he was gripping his dad so hard he was probably hurting him. Slowly he unlocked his fingers. “Oh, god, what are we going to do?”
“He was no good. You know he was no good.” Grant scratched his thinning hair and cleared his throat. “Figured the money might come in handy if that bastard Dryzek started leaning on you again. Maybe give you an escape route.”
“He threatened you and Mom.” His dad had murdered a man in cold blood. To protect him. Mike shook his head. The leaden sky pressed down upon him. “I’m not going anywhere until he’s put away, and the cash might not even be real.”
“Well, shit.”
The man he’d known his whole life as a fine, upstanding citizen had taken a life and barely seemed bothered by it. The sound of an engine had them both scrambling to close the cubbyhole. They looked up, relieved, as his mother pulled up in her sedan. She got out, wringing her hands. “She figured it out.” There was fear in her eyes, agitation to her movements.
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